outline, by no means altogether due to the obscuring effect of distance, which makes it difficult to arrive at any universally acceptable definition of its principles and aims. As to what happened in Scotland, in Holland, or in Geneva, there can be no controversy. In all of these the revolution was abrupt and thorough, constituting a more or less complete breach with the past; and even in Lutheran Germany and Scandinavia the retention of a large body of Catholic doctrine and ceremonial was far outweighed by the conscious and deliberate breach of the "Apostolic Succession." In England, on the other hand, the movement was from the first largely conservative, avoiding revolutionary methods, intolerant of extremes, advancing cautiously step by step, and careful of all the ties that bound it to the past, so long as these were consistent with the aim of its political leaders-the subservience of the Church to the State.

This striking characteristic of the Reformation in England may have been due to the exigencies of the case, and to the natural- tendency of Euglishmen to change the spirit rather than the form of their institutions; but it is nevertheless so entirely in accord with Machiavelli's principle that, in making innovations, the substance rather than the form should be changed, that, in so far as it was the result of deliberate policy, it may well have been to some extent inspired by him, more especially as there is abundant proof of his influence on the methods by which the revolution was effected.

That Henry the Eighth was himself directly influenced by any study ot "The Prince" may be doubted, though he was himself a typical prince of the Renaissance-in his culture, his learning, his splendor, and his popular manners, no less than in his "cruelty well applied." Yet he was not the ideal ruler of Machiavelli, for he succumbed to that all but universal failing of not knowing how to be wholly either good or bad. "He was," to use

the words of the late Professor Froude, "divided against himself. Nine days in ten he was the clear-headed, energetic, powerful statesman; on the tenth he was looking wistfully to the superstition which he had left." In short, he still nursed his theological conscience, and had not yet learned from Machiavelli to regard religion solely as the handmaid of politics. In Thomas Cromwell, however, he found a minister to whom his objects were thoroughly congenial, and whose methods were less likely to be affected by inconvenient scruples.

That Cromwell's ecclesiastical policy was dictated by motives of zeal for Evangelical religion, or sympathy with persecuted truth, is a view which may appeal to some minds; but, in the light of available evidence, it is far more probable that the reforming tendencies of the day were merely used by him, in the true Machiavellian spirit, to further the object which he consistently kept in view-the consolidation of an absolute royal power, under the forms of a constitution, by the aid of a subservient parliament and a terrorized Church. Nor, in spite of the scarcely impartial opinion of the late Professor Froude,1 is it improbable that this policy was deliberately based upon Machiavelli's teaching. It is admitted that Cromwell spent many years in Italy, first as a clerk in a commercial house in Florence, and afterwards as a soldier of fortune or engaged in diplomatic service at various Italian courts. It is not surprising that a politician trained in the school of the Medici and the Borgias should have welcomed the appearance of "The Prince," or have been content to use its maxims in the architecture of his own fortunes; and there seems no adequate reason (certainly none is given by Professor Froude) for doubting the substantial truth of the accusation of Machiavellism which is brought against Cromwell by Cardinal Pole.

Pole affirms that the immediate

1 He dismisses Pole's accusation of Machiavell

ism against Cromwell in a short footnote. (Hist. vol. ii., ch. vi., p. 109).

cause of his exile was the rise of Cromwell to power, the results of which he dreaded, because he had had an opportunity of judging of that statesman's principles and maxims of government in a conversation he had once had with him on the office of a prudent councillor. "In this decision," he says, "nothing influenced me more than my having from that one interview and conversation easily perceived what kind of government we should have, if that man ever held the reins of power -namely, a government dangerous and destructive to all honest men."1 Of this discussion, which had been raised by some reference to Wolsey, the cardinal proceeds to give an epitome. "I told him," he says, "that it was the duty of a councillor to consider above all things the interest and honor of his sovereign; and I enlarged on these subjects, as they are enforced by the law of nature and the writings of pious and learned men." Cromwell, in reply, poured scorn on the opinions of pious and learned men, as themes good enough for sermons or the discussions of the schools, but of little use in practical politics, and decidedly out of favor at the courts of princes. In his opinion a little experience was worth a great deal of theory, and statesmen who based their policy upon books, rather than upon a knowledge of men and affairs, were apt to suffer shipwreck. For the prudent councillor the first thing to do was to study the prince's inclinations-by no means an easy task, since the external deportment of princes so often belies their inner character. "For it is of the greatest importance that he should in his conversation consistently display an exalted character for religiousness, piety, and the other virtues; without, however, there being the slightest necessity for his inclinations to coincide with it." And in this respect the prudent councillor will know how to imitate the prince, a result to be obtained with a very little trouble. The cardi

1 Cf. "Apologia ad Carolum V." An abstract is given by Professor Brewer in his essay on the Royal Supremacy.

nal was, very naturally, not a little shocked. At this Cromwell expressed no surprise, but told him that, if he were to turn for a while from his studies to the practical affairs of State, he would soon learn the comparative value of experience and theory in the art of government. "In these matters," he exclaims, "a few sentences from a man of experience are worth whole volumes written by a philosopher who has no such experience." For him a book founded upon empty speculation had no value. Plato's "Republic" had been written about two thousand years, and its maxims had never yet been practically applied. On the other hand, he knew of a book which he would recommend Pole to read, written by a practical man whose rules and maxims were confirmed by every-day experience, "a book," adds the horrified cardinal, "which, though it displayed the style of a man, I had nevertheless hardly begun to read, when I saw that it had been penned by the finger of Satan." This Satanic work was, of course. Machiavelli's "Prince."

Others have, indeed, abundantly pointed out the Machiavellian nature of Cromwell's methods-his government by terror, his elaborate system of spies, his ruthless sweeping aside of all who stood in his path. As an illustration of this system of tyranny it may suffice to take one notable instance, closely connected with the Reformation both in its political and religious aspects. The execution of Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher has always been regarded as the master crime of the Cromwellian reign of terror. Even Professor Froude lamented its necessity, though it was, in his opinion, a necessity. It was, it is true, unfortunate that the affair of the Anne Boleyn marriage "told fatally to destroy the appearance of probity of motive, so indispensable to the defence

of the government;" and Europe, no doubt laboring under a misconception of the facts, was filled with indignation. So great, indeed, was this indignation that Henry "condescended to an explanation." He directed the magistrates to enlarge to the people on the malicious treasons of the Bishop of Rochester and Sir Thomas More. To the king of France, who had ventured to send a remonstrance, he replied haughtily that "the English government had acted on clear proof of treason; treason so manifest, and tending so clearly to the total destruction of the commonwealth of this realm, that the condemned persons were all well worthy, if they had a thousand lives, to have suffered a ten times more terrible death and execution than any of them did suffer."

And what were these terrible treasons about which Henry was so righteously indignant, as tending to the total subversion of the realm? More had been willing to recognize the right of Parliament to alter the succession; he had been prepared to keep silence on the royal supremacy. What he had not been willing to do was to perjure himself by denying openly his belief in the spiritual supremacy of the pope. If this was treason, of every hundred honest men in the kingdom ninety-nine were traitors.

was

The treasons for which More condemned had not been on the statute book a year. A few months before his arrest it would have been heresy to affirm what it was now treason to deny. He was not allowed to escape by retiring into private life, as he wished, but was hunted out and, contrary to all precedent and all natural justice, entrapped into incriminating himself. The true reason for their execution Professor Froude himself gives, though it is difficult for an unbiassed mind to see in it any real justification. "They had," he says, "chosen to make themselves conspicuous as confessors of Catholic truth; though prisoners in the Tower, they were in effect the most effectual champions of the papal claims, and if their

disobedience had been passed over the act could have been enforced against no one." They were, in fact, those uncompromising and conscientious opponents of the new order whom Machiavelli classes under the name of "the sons of Brutus," and who must, in his view, be slain, if the new order is to be maintained."

If, then, the influence of Machiavelli is so clearly traceable on Cromwell's political methods, it is possible that, in its broader aspects also, his policy was derived from the same source. Especially may he have learned from Machiavelli that astuteness by which he recognized that men are often willing to surrender the substance of their rights if they are allowed to retain the shadow, which led him to exercise a despotic government without the open violation of any constitutional form, and, finally, to make the Church the seemingly willing instrument of her own enslavement. And the justification of this Machiavellian policy is found in the comparatively peaceful course of the Reformation in England. The great bulk of the people, Catholic by education, by instinct, and by the strong conservatism of our race, accepted the new order without realizing to what it committed them. Later on, when the hopes of a reaction became weaker, the discontent of a small minority might express itself in abortive plots; but England was spared the horrors of a Thirty Years' War, or of a struggle such as that between the Huguenots and the League; and when, in the next century, the Puritan Revolution occurred, its motives were political rather than religious. Even in our day this Machiavellian method of reform still bears fruit, in that it can be seriously argued that the Church of England under Henry the Eighth was the willing instrument of her own reformation.

With the fall of Cromwell the influence of Machiavelli on the course of ecclesiastical affairs in England came, for the time, to an end. For his strong 1 History, vol. ii., p. 369. 2 Discorsi, book iii., cap 4.